


Lost Boys

by OTPshipper98



Series: Harry Potter in English [33]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anger and Rage, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crying, Helplessness, Hugs, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Punching, Self-Harm (Through Punching Walls)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-16 17:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18526231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTPshipper98/pseuds/OTPshipper98
Summary: When the first shriek pierced the air, Harry muted it with a groan and a punch to the wall.Draco's pain hurts Harry beyond relief, and Harry's pain hurts Draco, too. At least they have each other to hold on to.





	Lost Boys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarchnoGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarchnoGirl/gifts).



> Written for MarchnoGirl's prompt, **"Let me, please."** Just another one of my "Draco and Harry hold each other through hell and back" one-shots — this one inspired by my longfic in Spanish that I _will_ write one day, goddamnit! 
> 
> **For context:** this is (or will be when I write it) a scene from a 7th year AU where Draco and Harry are trapped in Malfoy Manor during the magical war. Harry is under Voldemort's protection, but Draco isn't, and so he's tortured by the Death Eaters.
> 
> I didn't tag this with **Graphic depictions of violence** because I don't consider my descriptions here graphic, but there are mentions of bloodied knuckles, so be warned of that!
> 
> Beta'd by Bblgumbby and FleetofShippyShips 😊

When the first shriek pierced the air, Harry muted it with a groan and a punch to the wall.

Then there was silence, and he forced himself to take a breath — just one, and then he held it in. It felt too precious to let go.

His knuckles were throbbing and the pain felt like a release. Like the ache in his chest was easing, flowing through his arm and into a ball of red anguish in his hand. But too soon it flowed back up, and Harry groaned again.

There was another shriek, and he punched the wall again. And again, and again, until the pain was so unbearable his chest and mind seemed blissfully hollow. Until he could almost pretend he couldn’t hear the screams.

It must have been minutes later when the bedroom door slowly creaked open. Harry’d taken a few steps back upon seeing — through the waves of rage surging through him — the smears of blood on the wall, and was standing in the middle of the room with his fists clenched. Just breathing.

When he looked up, he wanted to start throwing punches all over again.

Draco was standing in the doorway, his gaze fixed on Harry’s fists. He was barely holding himself up, arms tight around his abdomen, legs shaky. He looked pale, _so_ pale, and his lips were parted, dry and bloody.

There were tear tracks down his cheeks.

Their eyes met. Draco’s chest moved as he breathed in — weakly, pathetically — and Harry... Harry wanted to kill. He wanted to kill for that boy, for what had been done to him. He wanted to draw his wand and rid that damned Manor of every single person that had ever hurt Draco.

Even if that meant ridding it of Harry himself.

Draco closed the door behind him. He stumbled forward. His hands fell on Harry’s forearms, and Harry wanted to steady Draco, to hold on to him — but he pushed away. Draco had already seen his hands, but he couldn’t stand the idea of him _really_ seeing them. Seeing what rage could turn Harry into. What he was capable of doing.

“Let me.” Draco’s voice was broken, his hands weak as he reached for Harry’s arms. “Please.”

Harry closed his eyes. Looked away, then back at Draco — then away again. He brought his hands back to Draco’s and winced as Draco touched them — touched the tip of his wand to them. The tickle of a healing spell ran through his broken skin, making him shiver. The frustration grew in his chest again, and he frowned, trying to think past it. “You shouldn’t be the one healing me.”

Draco leaned closer until their noses were side by side. He rested his forehead to Harry’s temple with a sigh. “Couldn’t let you hold me with bloodied hands, now could I?”

He sounded so very vulnerable that Harry’s pain dissolved for a moment. He embraced Draco’s lower back, bringing their bodies closer together, and he closed his eyes when he felt Draco practically melt against him — feeble.

“What did they _do_ to you?”

Draco let his forehead fall onto Harry’s shoulder. “Just _Crucio_ this time.” He inhaled deeply, his nose pressed to the curve of Harry’s neck. “I promise.”

Harry didn’t believe him.

Just as he was about to reply, a hand slowly made its way up his chest, over his collarbones, and cupped his jaw. Harry unclenched it and leaned into the touch.

“You shouldn’t have hurt yourself like that.”

Harry bristled. “They shouldn’t have hurt _you_ like that!”

“Yeah,” Draco breathed. “But this hurts me more.”

Draco’s fingers sunk into Harry’s hair. Harry brought a hand up to Draco’s head too, but retreated when he brushed Draco’s spine and he flinched, pulling at Harry’s strands.

“Sorry,” Harry said.

“Hmm,” was Draco’s reply, a soft whine into the safety of Harry’s throat. When Harry rested his hand above the curve of Draco’s arse, where he was sure he wouldn’t hurt him, Draco huffed a little laugh and added, “Don’t apologise for wanting my arse, Potter. I know it’s too good to resist.”

That made Harry think about Draco in third year, pretending his arm had been broken for a week. And about Draco in fourth year, whining for days after Moody — well, Barty Crouch Jr — had turned him into a ferret.

It made him think about Draco now, small and defeated in his arms, making jokes to hide the fact that he was in pain. Caring for Harry’s hands more than for his own _Crucio_ spasms.

He wanted his Draco back. He wanted that poncy, spoiled, annoying git back. He wanted Draco to _want_ to fight back.

But there was no fight left in him, and that was perhaps what terrified Harry the most. Because Draco felt like a lifeline; one that was silently, painfully losing his vitality to the fear and pain of the war — that of the magical world, but also that which happened day after day inside the regal, tainted walls of the Manor.

They crawled into bed together, the same way they always did. Draco snuggled close, and as always, they stayed awake in silence, breathing through the thoughts, through the emotions. Through the steps around the Manor — through the muffled laughter of the Death Eaters and the hooting of the owls outside. Through the memory of Hedwig, who was probably snoozing by Ron’s bed now, safe and content.

Narcissa’s head eventually poked into their bedroom. Draco pretended to be asleep on Harry’s chest, and Harry looked at her — a little exchange that had become a routine too.

In the silence, a palpable _‘thank you’_ floated in the air between them.

If Draco hadn’t been lying on top of him, Harry would have punched Narcissa Malfoy. He would have punched her for not protecting her son — for not caring enough. For standing by while he was torn, and broken, and humiliated. But then the door closed again and a hand caressed his chest, making Draco’s words from days before ring back in Harry’s mind and wash away everything else in their wake.

_‘I always feel safe when I’m with you.’_

**Author's Note:**

> Even if this is an old fic, kudos, comments and bookmarks are still incredibly appreciated! ❤️


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